


Jingle All the Way

by WhatLocked



Series: It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas! [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But he has a point, Jingle Bells, Light Bondage, Lucky John, M/M, Poor John, Sherlock that is not the sort of favour you ask of your brother, Straightforward Sherlock, this is seriously just PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28315725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: It is Christmas eve and John comes home to a very quiet flat.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas! [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/895518
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Jingle All the Way

**Author's Note:**

> I was hoping to get this posted last night but I've been a bit lazy, but here it is!  
> Merry Christmas everyone.

~~~~~~~~~~

  
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring and this made Doctor John Watson a very nervous man. 

The inside of 221 B Baker Street was almost never quiet. During the day there was the sound of Mrs Hudson’s radio. This was usually accompanied by whatever sound a three year old wanted to make that day. Then there was the sound of clients coming and going, members of Scotland Yard thundering up the stairs, a consulting detective yelling BORED every five minutes or the tapping of the umbrella tip on the floorboards as it’s owner descended or ascended the stairs. 

Of an evening there were the sounds of pure domesticity. People coming and going, dinner being prepared, the bath running, cartoons on the TV, the rustle of newspaper pages, a deep voice reading  _ Where the Wild Things Are _ and dishes being gently placed in the drying rack.

Even at night time, there were sounds. The soft strains of the violin, muffled footsteps moving around the second floor, murmured voices of inconsequential conversations or the soft snores that are vehemently denied during the day.

Right now, there was nothing. Not a thing. If there were a cricket in the building (and that is not a far stretch of the imagination at all) you would hear it chirp. It was silent. John didn’t like it.

He stood at the foot of the stairs and considered the list of things he could find: 

  1. Nothing unusual - he was just being paranoid.
  2. Everyone was asleep, despite it only being quarter past six in the evening - stranger things have happened.
  3. Everyone was unconscious because the chemicals Sherlock had been playing with ( _They are perfectly harmless, John_ ) when John had left for work that morning were not, in fact harmless - it wouldn't be the first time.
  4. Everyone was dead - but let’s leave that thought alone.
  5. A note saying that Sherlock had to take Watson to the hospital - doubtful, Sherlock would have phoned the clinic.
  6. A hostage situation - it had been at least a year since one of those had occurred.
  7. John had lost his hearing since shutting the front door - a quick click of his fingers disproved that theory.



Deciding that standing there wasn’t going to help solve the problem (he wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, after all) and it was only making him more nervous (because, face it, something  _ was _ going on), and because he was tired from a very long day at the clinic, John started up the stairs. 

Reaching the landing, he cautiously stepped into the living room. The fire was burning low, the Christmas lights were on, Sherlock's jacket and Rosie’s parker were hanging on the hook and nothing was burned, dismantled, knocked over or spray painted. It was also devoid of all people. 

He was about to head upstairs, to where he and Rosie slept, when he heard a most unusual sound. It was the sound of gently jingling bells. Now, while most people would expect to hear this at Christmas time, it wasn’t so at Baker Street. The reason being that Sherlock had banned it. Every single bell. This was a result of someone buying Rosie a set of cheaply made musical bells and every time one was rung, it would set Sherlock’s teeth on edge. Apparently, bells could be played out of tune. And badly. So to hear them now was surprising and made John even more alert. 

What troubled him more, though was where they were coming from. They were coming from the back of the flat. From Sherlock's bedroom. At another short, gentle burst of jingles, John cautiously made his way up the small hallway and stopped right in front of Sherlock’s bedroom door, which was shut, but not latched. 

Slowly, John raised his hand and rested his palm on the wood of the door and then even slower, he pushed the door open and stepped inside the room, bracing himself for what he might find.

Any sane, articulated, intelligent thought John had in his head, fled. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come to help him understand what he was seeing. He closed his mouth and then opened it again. Nope. Still nothing. 

“Ah, John. Good, you’re home. I was starting to think that you had actually finally accepted Vanessa’s pitiful attempts at flirting.”

“...Who?...” John asked, not sure what he was asking but feeling it was the right thing to say, since he still wasn’t understanding what was in front of him.

“Vanessa. The new nurse at the clinic.”

John frowned. There was no…oh. “Bethany. Her name is Bethany. And, no. I didn’t...I’m sorry, but what exactly is going on here?”

Sherlock was sat in his bed, naked, save for a cushion over his lap, with his hands tied to the bedhead with velvet straps of sleigh bells. 

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

John shook his head slowly. “Nope.”

“I’m seducing you.”

If John had thought all rational thought had left him before he had been wrong. He was actually certain he blacked out for a few seconds as he tried to comprehend the words that had just come out of the mouth of Sherlock Holmes. 

_ I’m seducing you. _

Technically, John knew what each of those words meant on their own. He even understood them strung together in that particular order. What he didn’t get was what they meant coming out of the mouth of the man currently tied naked to his bed. 

Rather than doing something that may or may not result in an aneurysm, John decided to move onto a safer subject, and probably the one that he should have asked first. 

“Where’s Rosie?”

“At my parents” Sherlock replied simply. 

“At your parents,” John repeated back slowly. This had been the first he had heard about this and, if he wasn't so fucking bewildered (and maybe a bit turned on) by this evenings proceedings, he probably would be right pissed. 

“Yes, they were in London, doing a spot of last minute shopping. I asked if they would like her for the night. We will head down tomorrow morning to pick her up. She is safe and well, she has her orange donkey and we have a night free for copious amounts of uninterrupted sex.”

Again, John took a few minutes to parse everything his flat mate and best friend had just said. Most of it computed rather well, considering his state of shock, but the bit about uninterrupted sex was still sluggishly working through his brain cells, trying to be understood. 

Again, John felt it best not to jump straight into that and asked another question that he should have probably asked before now.

“Who tied you up? Oh, god, please don’t say it was your parents.”

This time it was Sherlock’s time to frown. “What, no. Why on earth would I ask my parents to tie me naked to a bed? I may not follow social norms, John but even for me that is a bit far.”

“Homeless network?”

“Not a chance in hell. Are we really going to do this instead of having sex?”

Yes, John thought vehemently, because he still had no idea what was going on. 

“Mr Hudson?”

“Apparently, yes we are. No John, Mrs Hudson went to her sisters this morning. Whoever tied me up isn’t important, so can we just…”

“Not even you could tie yourself up like that and if it had been Lestrade, he would have taken a photo and sent it to me so, oh, please say you didn’t ask Molly to do this.”

“Of course I didn’t ask Molly. I’m not completely insensitive, plus she is spending the weekend at Toby’s.”

“You do know that Toby is her cat and he lives with her, yeah?”

“Really?”

John just nodded.

“Still, it wasn’t Molly, so can you just…”

“But there isn’t anyone else you would trust to...oh, my god. You got your brother to tie you naked to your bed.”

The silence and the forced aloof expression Sherlock had taken was all John needed to know that he was right. As soon as the fact solidified in his brain, John leaned forward and laughed, supporting himself with his hand on his knee as the merriment howled out of his mouth. “Oh, my god” John gasped as tears welled in his eyes. “How the fuck did that go?”

By now, John noted, even in the state he was in, that Sherlock was looking very peeved as he glared at John.

“He owed me - still does actually - and I took great pleasure in making him extremely uncomfortable. Now, if you don’t mind, I have been sitting here for over three-quarters of an hour, it is getting cold and my wrists are starting to chafe, so could you please, take this seriously, strip off and fuck yourself silly on my cock.”

At this bold command coming from his friend, John stopped laughing and straightened up. Apparently, Sherlock was serious. He wanted to have sex with John. 

“Where is this…”

“Oh, for god sake, John. Please can we leave the talking to later. I want you. I have for a very, very long time. I know you want me but for whatever reason, neither of us have acted on it and quite frankly, I’m tired of waiting. Neither of are getting any younger, we are both sexually frustrated so let’s take the time we have, with no interruptions, to finally do what everyone else has thought we were doing all along and have mind blowing sex. I promise I will let you talk as much as you like after we are both completely satiated.”

John only had to let that sink in for half a second before he thought, _ ‘Fuck it. He’s right! _ ’ and started stripping. 

It can’t possibly have taken John more than thirty seconds, forty at a push, to strip down. The whole time Sherlock eyed him with a rather smug look on his face. It was almost tempting enough to gather up his clothes and tell Sherlock that he was on his own. Unfortunately, what was under the cushion in Sherlock’s lap was more tempting. Sherlock had been right (when wasn’t he?). John had wanted Sherlock for what seemed like forever. He had just never thought Sherlock did sexual (or any) relationships so he hadn’t pushed the issue. John had never been happier to be wrong in his life. 

“The lube is next to me” Sherlock said as John climbed onto the bed and straddled Sherlocks legs, his head nodding towards the bed by his hip. John reached down for the small bottle and lifted it up to study it. 

“So, judging from the fact you are a bit tied up, I take it I’m doing all the work then.”

Sherlock frowned again. “John, my arms have been tied up for almost an hour. Even if you were to untie me, and please don’t, I would be of no use as I have lost feeling in my hands.”

John pushed the doctor side of him away and ignored the fact that Sherlock couldn’t feel his hands. The idiot had done worse to himself and survived unscathed, he figured he would let John know when to untie him.

“Why are you tied up anyway?” John asked, opening the bottle and squeezing no small amount of the liquid into his hand. 

“You are stubborn and I figured this would be the most efficient way to get you to get over your pointless doubts and just get on with the job. Plus, you like a bit of light bondage.”

“Do I now?” John didn’t know how Sherlock knew that and nor did he care as he felt the first small breach of his slicked finger push into his body.

Slowly, John worked his own finger into his body, pushing the slight burn aside in search of the pleasure. It had been years, well over a decade, since he had done this. 

“Yes, you, um, you dilate...your pupils do, that is, whenever…” John looked up at Sherlock, surprised to see the absolutely stunned look on his face as he watched John finger himself open. Sherlock’s head was tilted, as if trying to see around John’s body, his mouth was slightly open, breath coming heavily through it. His eyes were almost all black, a very thin line of blue-grey around the pupil. “...Handcuffed” he finished off absently as John slid down and let out a moan, purely for effect. It worked. Sherlock’s mouth clamped shut and he swallowed. Hard. John smiled smugly. It had taken mere minutes for the bossy consulting detective to turn into a drawling, muttering mess. If John had known sex would have this effect over Sherlock he would have thrown his doubts and insecurities away years ago. 

“John,” Sherlock moaned and John added a small roll of his hips as he added a second finger. Another moan, more of a squeak, left Sherlocks lips and John felt a heady sense of pride and a hint of smugness that he could do this to Sherlock -  _ sex is for the simple minded _ \- Holmes.

It didn’t take long for John to feel adequately stretched so he removed his fingers from himself, squirted more lube into his hand and then, finally, removed the cushion that was covering Sherlock’s prick. What he found underneath did not disappoint. It was a good length, not too thick but still had a good girth and the foreskin was retracted, exposing a nicely rounded head, glistening with the first drops of pre-come. 

Without any further hesitation, John used his lubed hand to coat Sherlocks cock, causing the man beneath him to cry out and arch into the touch and then, watching Sherlock look at him with nothing short of awe and amazement, John lined himself over Sherlock’s cock and slowly started to sink down on it. 

A low, drawn out  _ ‘Johhhhhhn _ ’ left Sherlocks lips as a hiss left John’s as he bottomed out, his backside flush with Sherlocks groin and damn, it felt good. John sat like that, his head tipped back and his eyes closed, and just felt Sherlock inside of him, for a few seconds. The sound of his own, controlled breathing was the only thing he could hear over Sherlocks short, shallow pants. 

“John” the other man finally whimpered, thrusting his hips up as much as John’s weight in him would allow, the bells around his wrist jingling with the movement. John thought about letting the man suffer a bit, but after another twitch of Sherlocks pelvis, John figured he was only punishing himself just as much so, rolling his head back so he was looking at Sherlock, and leaning forward, placing his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, John started to move. It was small, slow movements at first. Rising and falling, rolling his hips. 

Sherlock’s hands balled up where they were tied to the headboard. He thrusted up everytime John rolled down, emitting a little grunt each time and moaned when John purposely tightened his muscles around Sherlock’s length. 

It wasn’t long before the desire that had been smouldering in John’s abdomen fanned out into a raging fire and his pace picked up. He moved faster and harder and if Sherlock’s breathing was anything to go by, he was as close as John was. John bounced on Sherlock’s cock, his fingers digging into the other man’s shoulders, and moved without thought or rhythm. His breaths turned into small groans, Sherlocks was chanting his name over and over again, the headboard was hitting the wall and the bells around Sherlock’s wrist were ringing out a new carol that only these two men would ever hear. 

If John weren’t about to explode with pure ecstasy, he would have found the whole thing quite funny, but as it was he was just about to tip over the edge, when a rather loud howl left Sherlock’s mouth as his head slammed back against the headboard and his hips thrust up towards John. 

Watching Sherlocks Holmes orgasm was something that John Watson had tried to imagine often over the past few years, but actually seeing it was an image that his brain could never, ever have conjured up. It wasn’t beautiful or perfect, as porn would have everyone believe it should be. His eyes were scrunched shut, his face was a mottled red and his mouth was pulled back in a weird slash like shape as if it were trying to open and close at the same time. It was the most wonderfully perfect thing that John had ever seen and it was that look that sent him over the edge.

Two more thrusts and John was coming, his semen spurting out and onto Sherlock’s stomach.  With a drawn out moan, John slumped forward against Sherlock, his head on his shoulder and breathed through the effects of a fucking fantastic orgasm. 

“John” Sherlock said after a few moments.

“Hmmm” John replied lazily, his eyes sliding shut and thinking how comfortable he was.

He was pulled out of his stupor by rapid jingling as Sherlock shook his hands. “I need you to untie me. I can’t feel anything from the wrist up.”

John straightened up, wincing as he felt the mess between him and Sherlock, and started untying Sherlocks wrists. As the first velvet strip of bells fell away, John realised how utterly ridiculous all of this was and he started laughing.

“Do you normally laugh after sex?” Sherlock asked and the look of offence on the man’s face sent John into an even harder bout of laughter.

“No, no I don’t” he finally said, as he calmed down and untied the other hand. “But did you not hear these bloody bells throughout the whole thing?” At this, John started giggling again and chucked the bells to the floor.

“Yes well,” Sherlock said after his own small chuckle. “I didn’t think of that when I planned this. It just seemed, fitting given the time of year.”

John sat back on Sherlock’s thighs, as Sherlock rubbed his wrists and studied the other man. He seemed perfectly at ease, not a single shred of doubt or regret. “So,” he said, getting Sherlock’s attention. “We’re doing this then? You and me.”

“I figured it was about time,” Sherlock stated, looking John in the eye as if daring him to challenge him on the matter. John wouldn’t have dreamed of doing so, so he just grinned.

“Good,” he said and leaned forward and kissed Sherlock, gently on the lips. “Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock kissed him back. “Merry Christmas, John.”

  
  



End file.
